Doll
by supremegreendragon
Summary: When Watson finds a gift given to Holmes from a grateful client, he's anything but pleased. Slash. HolmesxWatson
1. Chapter 1

"Holmes," his voice said the name sternly, as it had done so more than a thousand times before.

Chocolate eyes stared innocently at the disgruntled man.

"Yes Watson? Is there anything you need before you leave?"

Watson had just put on his hat and was about to leave Baker Street for home when something caught his eye on the shelf by the fireplace.

How the deuce had he not notice that during his visit?

Watson used his cane to point at it.

"What is that thing?" he asked.

The detective turned his head in order to look at the object in question.

"Why that would be a vase, my dear fellow. It's a miraculous invention used for the sole purpose of decorating-"

"No not that," Watson's patience was wearing thin, "What is beside it? To the left?"

A slight twinge on Holmes' lips, yet the dark haired man hoped that his friend didn't notice. By the darkening look on Watson's face, it was safe to assume that he did.

"That is a doll."

Watson took a few steps closer, the idea of leaving forgotten momentarily. Holmes chewed on his pipe as the doctor inspected the doll.

After a long pause, Watson looked back at Holmes.

"Where the devil did you get this?"

"Do you know of the toy shop down close to the docks?"

Watson nodded that he did. Holmes continued.

"It just so happens that I've come to personally know the owner. He had stepped in one day, hoping I could help him find whoever had been leaving threatening letters on his doorstep. When he told me that he feared for his life, I agreed to help him-"

"That case sounded like it could have been serious," Watson commented.

Holmes didn't seem to mind the interruption. He set his pipe on the table close to him.

"From what was written in the letters, the thought wasn't out of the question."

The doctor didn't want to feel hurt but, "Why didn't you contact me about this? I would've helped with the case."

Holmes turned away, trying to mask the bitterness he felt.

"It's just as you said. Those days are behind us. Besides, I couldn't possibly suffer the guilt of taking you away from your quiet, normal life to assist me on a case."

Watson frowned. He grabbed the doll from the shelf to get a better look at it. It felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

The button eyes seemed to be staring back at Watson.

"And how did the case turn out?" he asked still looking at the doll.

Holmes turned back around to face him. He noticed the doll in his ex-partner's hands but said nothing about it.

"It was the store owner's son, as a matter of fact. He snuck into the house that very night with the intent of killing his father. He didn't see me in the shadows. It actually turned out to be a quiet affair. All I had to do was knock him unconscious using the pan I had been holding for just the occasion. After that we simply waited for the police force to take him away."

The confused look on Watson's face asked Holmes the question for him. Why was his son so intent on killing him?

"It was out of revenge, Doctor. James Shred Jr. wanted his father dead because he refused to pay for his outrageous gambling debt, something you would know a lot about I'm sure."

The detective smiled at Watson, who glared back. That just wasn't fair.

True Watson has gone back to gambling but he wasn't nearly as addicted as he had been. At least not in his opinion.

Watson held up the doll.

"So about this then."

Holmes was only too glad to explain.

"In addition to a fair amount of wage, Mr. Shred Sr. wanted to know if there was another way he could repay me. At first nothing came to mind, then I decided that I wanted him to design a doll for me. So I described how I wanted it to look and he made it for me."

"And you wanted the doll to look," Watson breathed out a sigh, "exactly like me."

Holmes couldn't prevent the smirk forming on his face. It annoyed Watson to think that Holmes would do something so perverse and frankly, creepy.

Before the doctor could say anything else, Holmes snatched the doll from his hands, holding it dearly like it would run away from him and he would die without it.

Watson's face was grim, a stark contrast to the plastered smile on the Watson doll's face.

Watson crossed his arms, his eyes narrow.

"Now see here. If you think having a doll like that is flattering to me, you're sadly mistaken."

"Well I didn't want it because I thought that it would flatter you," Holmes pointed out, looking at the doll endearingly.

The expression Holmes had on when he petted the doll's fake hair made the real Watson's blood boil. He didn't know why it had that effect on him.

All he knew was that that doll had to go. End of story.

"Throw that away," he ordered darkly.

Holmes seemed to be having the time of his life annoying Watson like this. His smile only broadened. His eyes gleamed as he held up the doll in front of Watson's face.

"I am Dr. Watson," he spoke in a childish voice, "I have a dog I share with my most beloved Holmes and I don't mind if he experiments on it. I always forgive him if he does something dangerous, like using morphine. I've seen the error of my ways and decided to sell my practice in order to move back in with Holmes."

He lowered the doll and looked at the real Watson. There was something akin to hope in eyes. Watson uncrossed his arms and sighed.

Ever since Holmes came back from the dead and found out Watson had been living alone, he had been trying to coax him into selling his practice and moving back in with him.

Even though Watson missed Holmes dearly, he didn't want to admit he would prefer to move back in with him, least of all to himself.

The night was drawing nearer and Watson wanted to return home before it got dark. Without another word, he stormed out of the flat.

Holmes watched his retreating figure until the door slammed shut. He looked at the doll, still smiling.

"We'll get him back," he promised confidently.

He made the doll nod his head in agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson returned back to Baker Street the very next day. Mrs. Hudson was surprised to see him visit two times in a row. She was so used to only seeing him once a week, maybe even less often than that at times.

The man smiled at her in order to reassure her that he wasn't here because of any certain emergency. This eased her a bit. She was honestly glad to see him and she knew that Holmes would be too.

Why Watson was visiting, he didn't know. But somewhere in the back of his mind he had a feeling it had something to do with the doll.

He made his way to where the dining table was, and sure enough Holmes was seated there with a plate of food and his attention focused solely on the doll.

The doll was placed on the table as well. Holmes was making its arms wave. The age-confused detective pretended that he wasn't aware of Watson's presence until he had the doll wave at him.

Then he looked to see who the doll was waving to, and he feigned surprise.

"Ah! Doctor. So good of you to join us," he gestured for the real Watson to take a seat.

Watson hesitated a little before sitting down across from Holmes. He looked at the doll disapprovingly.

"You're a little too old to be playing with dolls, don't you think Holmes?"

And, of course, Holmes responded to Watson's observation that he was acting childish by acting childish. Just like last night, Holmes spoke for it.

"How dare you! I am no doll! I'll have you know, sir, that I am a war veteran, a well esteemed medical man, and best of all, friends with the great Sherlock Holmes! The title 'doll' is degrading for someone of my standards."

Oh God, Watson thought tiredly, I hope Mrs. Hudson doesn't know about this.

Holmes looked at the doll in shock. Well, pretend shock at least.

"Calm down my friend. Dr. Watson didn't mean any offense, I'm sure. Did you Dr. Watson?" Holmes looked at the real Watson.

Was he really talking to the doll? Watson couldn't wrap his head around it. He sat there, bewildered to see his friend acting so...odd.

Odder than usual. And that was pretty odd.

Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson came into the room. She looked at Holmes and the doll with a disheveled expression, before offering Watson a friendly smile.

"Would you like me to fetch you something to eat, Dr. Watson?"

Before the real Watson could answer, Holmes held up the doll and spoke in his childish voice.

"No thank you. I already had buttered scones for breakfast. However, a cup of tea sounds lovely right now."

Watson and Mrs. Hudson were left speechless. The poor landlady gave Watson a worried glance, silently asking him to get Holmes to stop this mad behavior.

He nodded to her, hoping that she would understand that he planned to.

When Mrs. Hudson left, Watson took a deep breath. Holmes was still playing with the doll, completely ignoring him. Watson ignored the agitation he was feeling because of that.

He chose his next words carefully.

"Now listen Holmes. I'm sure that you have your reasons for wanting such a...an interesting reward for your services to Mr. Shred," he paused for a second,

"And I must admit as handsome as that doll is," he choked out a laugh, "You need to throw it out. You're upsetting Mrs. Hudson."

Watson studied Holmes for a second, curious as to what his response would be. Holmes didn't even give the doctor the satisfaction of having the gaze returned.

He just patted the doll's head affectionately. Too affectionately.

Watson felt his face flush in anger. He shot out of his seat.

"Now see here! Having a doll like that is not acceptable! Don't you think I have the right to at least grant you permission before you had a doll made like that?"

"Why ever would I need your permission?" Holmes asked, finally looking at him.

"Because the doll is me, Holmes. And it is really disturbing to me that you would do something like this. I can't just let you walk around, playing with a doll that has my face!

How would you like it if I had a doll that looked like you! And decided to play with it as if I were three years old, or pretend like it was talking to other people, or...or..."

"Read books to it?" Holmes offered, his eyes full of mischief.

"Yes! That too!"

"Hug it?"

Watson was slightly caught off guard by the last example. But he recovered and nodded just the same with a steely glare.

"That as well. Yes!"

Holmes smirked.

"Sleep with it?"

This time Watson was struck silent. His jaw hung loose as his mind went back to what Holmes had just said.

He slept with it? Well true that some children have been known to sleep with their toys, and Holmes was definitely acting like one of those children, but to sleep with it?

Watson closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, bracing himself to ask the dreaded question. He opened his eyes hesitantly.

"Tell me," he began, "You don't really sleep with that doll. Do you?"

Holmes merely flashed a guilty smile his way. Watson was unprepared when the dark haired detective pressed his lips on top of the doll's head.

The doctor felt his cheeks growing hot. He looked away so that Holmes wouldn't be able to see his flushed face.

He knew that Holmes was just trying to get on his nerves. But why would he go so far as to kiss the doll?

He was really, really grateful that Mrs. Hudson didn't see that.

That's it. Watson turned his head back to Holmes with a determined and angry look. He held out his hand.

"Give me the doll," he ordered.

This only made Holmes hold his toy tighter. His eyes were big, almost pleading and his lips formed a tight pout.

"Am I to understand that you would take my only means of happiness away?"

And then Holmes' expression did a dramatic change, from pitiful to smug.

"Just because you're...jealous?"

Watson didn't know how to react. He just stood there dumbfounded.

It was at that moment that Mrs. Hudson came in with the tea. Neither men payed any attention to her but it didn't bother her.

She set the tea down on the table, shook her head sadly and silently left the room.

"I'm not jealous," Watson snarled through gritted teeth.

Holmes knew he had struck a nerve. He looked back at the doll.

"Of course you're not. And as to your previous question, I'd think that I would rather enjoy it."

Confusion swept Watson's anger away.

"Excuse me?"

He honestly didn't know what the detective was talking about. Holmes' stroke the Watson doll's cheek.

"Your question was how I would like it if you had a doll of me which you showed affection to. My answer is that I firmly believe I would enjoy the idea,"

his gaze drifted in deep thought, "Yes. I enjoy the thought of you seeking comfort from one of your all-too-frequent nightmares about the war.

Holding onto a little version of me and feeling safe by doing so. Kissing it softly. Once on the head. Then to the lips. Then you pretend that the doll's lips are my own-"

"Okay," Watson decided to cut him off there, "What have you been drinking and is this brain damage of yours permanent?"

The good doctor was satisfied just a little to see the cross look on Holmes' face. He pouted at his friend for the interruption.

Watson refused to let himself think that was...almost...kind of...cute. And he was sure as hell not letting Holmes joke around like that.

He had grown used to the man pretending like he wanted to be lovers, especially after his marriage.

But seriously, that had to stop. If Holmes kept acting like he had something besides platonic love for his friend then people might begin to suspect he was serious.

And Watson for one was not going to bail him out if he got thrown into jail because of it.

Watson took a sip of his tea and the two men fell in silence. It was awkward with Holmes sulking the entire time.

Watson didn't think the interruption would have that affect on him.

When he was finished with his tea, Watson stood up, preparing to leave. Holmes looked up with big round eyes.

Just seeing him like that while he was holding onto the doll reminded Watson of a helpless child. He was almost reduced to staying.

But he gathered his nerve.

"I'll return tomorrow morning Holmes. If it won't be a bother."

"Oh by all means," Holmes lowered his head and went back to sulking.

Watson prevented himself from sighing.

"And I hope that by the time I arrive you will have gotten rid of that toy of yours."

"Don't count on it," Holmes muttered so darkly it had taken Watson aback.

Watson felt his anger rising again.

"And why is that?" he demanded with his eyes narrowing.

Holmes challenge Watson's heated glare with his own. He stood up as well.

The Watson doll was once again patted by Holmes' hand.

"Because. I have made a promise to myself, Watson. A vow, if you will. And I am determine to keep it."

This caused Watson to arch an eyebrow.

"And what is that vow, Holmes?"

The detective's look softened slightly.

"To have at least one John Watson by my side for all time."


	3. Chapter 3

It was a typical cold and rainy morning when Watson found himself, yet again, in front of Baker Street. He barely knocked on the door twice when Mrs. Hudson opened up and happily let him inside.

"Oh Dr. Watson! I'm so glad you've been visiting more often," she nearly exclaimed, "Mr. Holmes has been in better spirits these past few days. I was beginning to worry about him."

Her words struck Watson funny. He took off his hat and coat and set them aside.

"What do you mean? Has he not been feeling well?"

Mrs. Hudson's smile fell and worry filled her features. She turned her head to look upstairs, then turned it back to Watson. She whispered very softly.

"He's been an absolute mess. Not hardly eating at all, sulking alone in the lounge, having trouble sleeping..."

"Could something bad have happened to him during the three years he was faking his death?" Watson asked himself out loud, beginning to worry that that may be the case.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. The sad look she gave Watson made it almost seem like her concern was focused on the doctor.

That Watson had her pity for some unknown reason. But certainly Watson was just imagining things?

"I believe that the worse thing that happened to him was going about so long without you."

Watson stared at her in astonishment. It suddenly became so quiet that Watson could hear birds chirping from outside.

"Mrs. Hudson," he forced a smile as if to reassure her, "Holmes is a grown man. Surely he's able to handle himself without me. I don't see how you can think that my absence has anything to do with his strange behavior."

The woman in front of him sighed. She looked at him with weary eyes.

"I don't think you realize what you mean to him, Dr. Watson."

"I know he doesn't have many friends-"

"He sometimes sleeps in the bed you used to occupy," she interrupted, "the first morning I caught him doing that, I tried to wake him up. He stirred and muttered..." she trailed off there.

Watson leaned his head in closer, feeling somewhat like a spy about to get valuable information.

"What did he mutter?" he pressed.

Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth but before any sound came out, a voice rang down from upstairs.

The childish voice of Sherlock Holmes.

"Look Holmes! It's the other Dr. Watson! Hopefully he has some manners this time and won't be referring anyone as a doll again. Quite infuriating, let me tell you."

From where Holmes stood on top of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson and Watson simply stared at him. The former with a tired expression, the latter with a disgruntled one.

Once again Holmes was clinging onto that damn doll, not showing the slightest intention of ever letting it go. Watson politely excused himself from the landlady and made his way upstairs.

"We need to talk," he stated sternly.

Holmes pretended to be confused.

"All three of us?"

"Now."

That was Watson's only response but it was said in such a powerful, commanding voice that that was all he needed to say. Holmes decided to humor his friend as he followed the doctor to his own room.

Watson made sure the door was closed before setting his eyes on Holmes, who was sitting on the bed with his chin resting on top of the Watson doll's head.

The real Watson was beginning to hate that doll every time he saw it.

Something about the way Holmes cuddled it made him nearly want to scream. Just like Holmes was doing now.

He was brushing the doll's fake hair with his finger, then he began playing with its stubby feet. Holmes let out a laugh.

"I didn't realize that Watson was so ticklish."

Watson was nearly grinding his teeth at this display in front of him. How dare that doll-

Wait. That wasn't what he meant. What he meant to think was. How dare Holmes show such affections to the doll just to annoy him. How dare he pretend like he was tickling his feet!

How did he know Watson's most ticklish spot anyway? Granted, many people are very ticklish there but still-

Okay getting off track here.

And was Holmes now kissing the doll? On the lips! Watson's face turned a dark crimson as Holmes practically snogged the doll.

That was it.

"Holmes, that is a sick joke!" Watson all but yelled, "I know you want to prove a point. That you want me to move back in with you but you're going too far!"

And finally, finally Holmes stopped. His attention was now on the real Watson as he gazed at him attentively. His chocolate eyes held some amount of surprise in them.

"Joke?" he whispered.

"Yes! That damn joke of yours where you pretend that you want us to be lovers. End it now. My God man! What would you do if I began to think you were serious? How would you explain yourself?"

The detective said nothing but his eyes narrowed darkly. Setting the doll on the bed, he stood up and stepped closer to Watson.

The two exchanged heated glances for a long moment. Then, much to Watson's surprised, Holmes pushed himself on him, their chests pressing against each other.

Flustered, Watson stared down into Holmes' eyes, that had gone from angry to something else. Something he couldn't quite define.

"H-Holmes?"

The dark haired man touched Watson's cheek with a soft, though slightly cold hand. his thumb stroked the taller man's lips.

Watson was too shocked to even think. He couldn't figure out why Holmes was behaving this way. As far as he could tell there were only two explanations.

One, he was never joking about being in love with Watson.

Which of course was just preposterous! Watson thought as he chuckled inwardly. Honestly! Who would ever think that two men could ever be lovers? Watson certainly never did.

...No really! He never did!

The other explanation was that this was all just a dream. Yes! That was it! Any second now Watson would wake up in his own, lonesome bed.

"Tell me. If I do this, John. Am I still...joking?" Holmes' voice was husk.

Before Watson could acknowledge the fact that Holmes had just used his first name, he felt warm lips pressing up against his own.

Watson felt a surge going through his body that very moment. A pleasant surge.

It was as if he was struck by lightning. A different kind of lightning that instead of causing pain, caused pleasure. Great, great pleasure.

And suddenly, Watson began kissing back. Holmes' eyes widened in surprise, then joy danced inside them.

They went on like that for a while, pausing only to take a breath before continuing from where they left off.

It was only after the fifth kiss that Watson realized something. This was Holmes he was kissing. And they were both men. And he was enjoying it.

And two men were not suppose to enjoy kissing each other.

What the hell was he doing?

Watson jerked Holmes away from himself, not missing the shocked and hurt look in the other man's eyes.

"We can't do this. It's wrong."

An awkward silence fell between them. Holmes looked to the ground. He muttered something under his breath. Something so cold that Watson was sure he heard wrong.

"Leave."

Watson stood there, dumbstruck.

"Wha-?"

"Just leave doctor," Holmes turned to him with flashing eyes, "Go ahead and leave! You like doing that, right? Leaving? Then go. Don't you dare come back!"

The way Holmes was screaming and trembling in rage made Watson knew he had to calm him down.

"No Holmes, there is no reason to-"

"LEAVE! Find yourself another wife and lie to yourself again! I've done all I could doctor. All I could. Well now I give up."

He pointed a finger at the doll while still keeping his enraged gaze on Watson.

"That doll may be fake. But right now I prefer its company to yours!"

The feeling that Watson just made the worse mistake of his life made its way inside the doctor's heart.

"Holmes. I'm sorry-"

"A little too late for that, isn't it? You don't see it doctor but I do! If you weren't such a coward and run away all the time we could have been happy. Leave now!"

And with that, Holmes darted to the door, jerked it open and pushed Watson out with incredible force. He then proceeded to push the man down the stairs.

"Okay Holmes," Watson frantically tried to calm him down, "Why don't I just go out awhile, then come back-"

"Don't ever come back! Not after what you did to me!"

Watson was struck cold.

"What I did to you?"

By this point un-shed tears made their way into Holmes' eyes. Watson was reminded of a child going through a tantrum.

"You left me. No matter how heartbroken I was YOU left me! I don't ever want to see you again!"

Watson was now shoved out the front door. He didn't care that he was outside where people could see their dispute. Right now he was just worried about Holmes.

Was this the last he would ever see of him?

"Holmes. Please. Tell me how I can make it up to you."

Holmes' expression didn't soften but his voice did. He whispered so only they could hear.

"Nothing you can do can make it up. The heartbreak, it's like nothing I ever felt nor wanted to feel.

The only way I could want to talk to you again was if I see you suffer a similar heartbreak.

A heartbreak where you beg me not to leave, and I refuse. Just like you did."

Watson wanted to comment on how cruel it was for Holmes to say that but he was cut off by the door slamming in his face.

He just stood there, trying to figure out what happened.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The feeling that he may never truly interact with Holmes again.

What was he going to do?


	4. Chapter 4

Watson didn't dare to stray anywhere near Baker Street after what had happened between Holmes and him.

Although the doctor had half a mind to march in his old to try to reason with his friend, he didn't.

Instead, he dismissed any thought of returning. The hurt and angry look that Holmes shot at him never left his mind.

Another thing that never left his mind was the kiss. It was such a simple kiss and now that he thought about it, felt very inexperienced on Holmes' part.

Why had he not notice it sooner? For all Watson knew it could've been Holmes' first one.

Yet he was too baffled to realize it at the time. And to add to his amazement he had thoroughly enjoyed it! What has gotten into him? Into Holmes?

Even though he felt great pleasure from the kiss, he was certain that he was in the right by putting a stop to it.

That is, he_ was _certain. However as days past on his assurance began to wane the more he thought about the incident.

Then after two weeks since he last saw Holmes, it hit Watson all of the sudden. Like reality had just slapped him in the face.

He had been in love with Holmes the entire time!

Through the years they had been living together, he had deluded myself into thinking his love for Holmes was strictly platonic. T

he idea that he could be...that way had been buried deep inside the unconscious part of his brain.

But now that he had forced himself to see the truth of his own character, everything immediately began to make much more sense.

The reason why he would follow Holmes blindly into dangerous situations, the reason why he took a liking to the man's chocolate brown eyes,

and (my God) the reason his own eyes would sometimes glue on Holmes' moving lips whenever the detective spoke, all linked to that one conclusion.

If Watson were in better spirits he would've laughed out loud at his own stupidity. Yes, it all made sense now.

But now what was he supposed to do? Holmes had no desire to see him ever again. The pit of the doctor's stomach sank at the thought.

Would Holmes accept him now if Watson admit his feelings? Or was he too hurt by Watson's refusal? Holmes had been right. Watson had been lying to himself.

Hope was waning as he stared out the window, looking at nothing in particular. His house seemed even more quiet and lonesome than before.

He barely registered one of the maids coming into the room.

"Sir? There is a man here to see you. He says he's in great pain."

Watson informed her to let him in. Even though he didn't like the idea of taking care of sick patients while he was in despair

(it just wasn't the right mood to be in to tend to the ill), he knew it couldn't be helped. Soon a red-faced, curly-haired man appeared, clutching onto his stomach.

For a long while the visitor said nothing. He just stared at the doctor with something akin to confusion in his eyes. After the silence dragged on for over a minute, Watson coughed awkwardly.

"Well, what seems to be the problem here?" he asked while motioning for the gentleman to sit down.

The other man complied.

"My stomach is burning terribly," he explained in a pained voice, "It feels almost like fire. If I were a lesser man I'd be in tears I tell you."

An odd growling sound came from the man's stomach and he groaned in response. It wasn't a growl from hunger. It sounded to Watson more like the man was having trouble digesting something.

"Could you tell me what you have eaten in the last twenty-four hours?" Watson asked.

The man took a minute to think. He spoke, but to Watson's surprise instead of answering he asked an unexpected question.

"Do I..know you?"

Confused, Watson inspected the man more closely, using methods of observation he had learned from Holmes. His curly hair was well kept but his fashion sense was poor.

A rather ugly gray and blue sweater with a bit of ink on the left sleeve. Perhaps the man was left-handed and wrote something down before he got here?

There was a small crack on one of the square lens of his glasses. His nose hooked like a beak and he had a boyish face.

But Watson was sure he had never seen the man before, so he told him. The gentleman still didn't seem convinced, but his stomach growled again and he hissed, so he decided to let the matter drop.

"I haven't ate much. I had some soup I made myself last night but all that was was some chopped carrots in boiling water. I had a loaf of bread with that. Let's see..." his face crinkled up in thought,

"When I woke up I had some cheese. That's when I started feeling bad. The cheese must've been old."

Watson nodded. Food poisoning does sound like it could be the cause here. But just to be sure...

"How old was this cheese?"

"I don't know. I don't remember buying it."

His answer struck Watson speechless. He considered the possibility that some people were okay with eating food they didn't remember buying.

But, probably because he was ever the cautious one (he always reminded Holmes to take a revolver) Watson couldn't see himself doing that.

If he didn't remember buying something then he would throw it out. Who knows, what if it was from an assassin and he was trying to poison you?

That could happen...

And no his experiences in war did NOT make him paranoid. Ahem- back to the matter at hand.

"Well where was this cheese?"

"In a milk bottle," the man answered swiftly.

Before it could even click inside Watson's mind what he had just heard, the man changed the topic.

"You know. I'm quite sure I've seen you somewhere before," he pressed on, "Your face looks so familiar. I can't put my finger on it..."

"I'm sure we never met," Watson insisted, his tone sounding harsher than he had intended.

Even with a sick patient in front of him, Watson couldn't stop thinking about Holmes. What was the detective doing now?

Was there really no way he would allow Watson back into his life again?

It made Watson almost sick to his stomach to consider that possibility. He really did love Holmes. And strangely he now had no problem facing the truth.

No, the only problem now was that he discovered the truth too late.

The man before him rubbed himself as though it gave him some comfort from his pain. He gazed upward in thought.

"Well, if it wasn't the cheese it could have been those eggs I had."

Watson was about to confirm that it was the 'cheese' in the milk bottle that caused the stomach ache before the gentleman in question continued.

"My friends did warn me not to eat them. But when I found them they just look so delicious. And I hadn't had eggs in-"

"Now steady on," Watson interrupted, "You found them?"

The man nodded.

"At the pond. They really weren't that delicious. I was disappointed."

Okay Watson had heard enough. He went to prescribe the medicine while the man chatted on about how he had the eggs (possibly freshly laid from geese) raw.

In fact he ate them whole, shell and all. He explained to the doctor about his belief not to waste anything. Eggshells included.

'It's a wonder why I haven't seen this man sooner,' Watson thought incredulously.

The man had taken the medicine Watson offered. It was at that moment his eyes lit up in delight which confused Watson since the doctor wasn't expecting the medicine to work that quickly.

The man pointed at him with a smile on his face.

"Now I remember where I've seen you. You look just like the doll he wanted me to make."

Realization struck Watson to the core as he gaped at the man in disbelief.

"Mr...Shred?"

The man nodded.

"Oh I see! He told me he had a friend like you. I guess that's why he wanted the doll," his face faltered to confusion, "Kind of strange if I may say so."

Something was planted inside Watson's mind at that moment. It took him a second to realize that it was the beginning of a plan, ready to sprout when he needed it to.

Watson beamed at the man pleasantly.

"Why what a small world we have! You know Mr. Shred. I was wondering if you could do something for me..."

x

x

x

Whenever Holmes was alone with the doll, he didn't bother speaking for it. No, he just imagined in his mind what it might say as he sat in his armchair, holding the doll on his lap.

He imagined it nagging at him for experimenting with dangerous chemicals without proper protection.

Holmes explained in his mind that the experiment worked better without the use of gloves. Doll Watson sighed, his way of expressing how much he cared.

He ignored the hole in his heart that the cotton doll could not fill no matter how hard he tried. But still he tried.

Mrs Hudson came in.

"Dr. Watson is here to see you."

Holmes paused. He felt genuine joy for the first time in weeks but preventing Mrs. Hudson from seeing. He kept his stoic, uncaring facade.

"Tell him that his presence here is no longer welcomed."

His voice was low and almost dark. Mrs. Hudson wanted to slap some sense into the man. She wasn't stupid, she knew what was going on.

And she was surprised at how unsurprised she was. Moreover, she was surprised at herself for accepting the fact so easily.

Now it seems the long deluded Dr. Watson also accepted it but Holmes was now unwilling to let it happen.

"I think you should let him see you. He seems upset."

Holmes was not about to let her guilt him into it. He stroke the doll's fake hair.

Upset. Did Watson care how upset he was when he started dating? When he married? When he pushed him away after the detective finally kissed him?

No. So why should he care?

A huff. Holmes turned his attention back on Mrs. Hudson, who had placed her hands on her hips in a defiant manner.

"Now Mr. Holmes, I know you want to see him just as badly. After all, you do talk in your sleep a lot. I heard you call him your John.

I heard you confessing your love to him in your sleep! I know because I was there while you were sleeping in his bed!"

She didn't mean for the monologue to turn into an outburst. Holmes was silent and astonished, his cheeks had a slight pink tint to them.

The detective stood up with as much dignity as he could muster. He looked at her straight in the eyes.

"How about this, Mrs. Hudson?" he said without portraying any emotion, "I let Watson in and you discard any thought of ever telling anyone what you had just informed me. Agreed?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled in victory while Holmes cursed her mentally. In a flash she was gone and Holmes tensed when he heard the familiar sound of Watson's footsteps coming closer.

Holmes held onto the doll tightly when Watson entered. For a moment he just stood there by the doorway. Neither of them broke the silence that lasted for what may as well have been hours.

Then, Watson strode forward, apparently trying to appear composed but Holmes could see the anxiety that flickered in his eyes and pulsed through his slightly trembling legs.

Holmes refused to look at the doctor in the eye. It was Watson who spoke first.

"Holmes, may I see that doll for just a second?"

The question shocked Holmes but he recovered quickly. Suspicious, he made no movement to do what Watson had asked.

"Why? So you can burn it?"

"I want to show you something. Something I think you'll like. No, I'm sure you'll like it," Watson corrected himself.

There was excitement in Watson's voice when he said that. It made Holmes look at him curiously. Their eyes met and both felt their hearts fluttered just a little after that.

Watson had his hand outstretched and a gentle look in his eyes.

"I promise I'll give it right back. In perfect condition."

The promise coupled with the way Watson looked so sincere was enough to convince Holmes to hand him the doll. Watson smiled.

"Go ahead and sit down, Holmes."

"What's this about Watson?"

Watson went behind a desk that was in front of the chair Holmes was asked to take a seat in. The doctor said seriously-

"Trust me. It will fix everything Sherlock."

'At least, I hope it does,' Watson kept the thought to himself.

Sherlock. Hearing his first name on Watson's lips sent a good feeling running down Holmes' back. It was an intimate gesture to call someone by their first name. And all he ever wanted was to be closer to Watson.

To John.

Holmes sat down. From out of his overly large, jacket pocket Watson pulled out something. Another doll. One that looked just like Holmes. The dark-haired man was left speechless.

Watson gulped, it was now or never. With the dolls in each hand he placed them so that their feet were barely touching the desk. He had it so it looked like the Watson doll was approaching the Holmes doll.

'Okay John, suck up your pride and just do this,' Watson silently urged himself.

"Good day Holmes," Watson put up his best childish voice, "How would you like to get something to eat with me?"

The real Holmes couldn't wrap around his mind exactly what he was seeing. The real Watson had the Holmes doll shake its head.

"Sorry old boy," Watson was now talking for the Holmes doll, "I have plans."

He shook the Watson doll a bit too dramatically.

"What? Plans? Is it a case?"

"No. As a matter of fact I have a date."

"Date," Watson's Watson doll's voice sounded crushed, "But I..."

Holmes doll tilted its head.

"You what?"

"I..love you. I mean.. I.."

"Dear Watson!" Watson's Holmes doll's voice sounded appalled, "You should know better than to take your mind...there. Besides, I love this woman and perhaps one day I will marry her."

The real Holmes' face lit up in delight as he watched the scene in front of him.

"Holmes, what is to become of me?" Watson doll asked.

A pause to show the Holmes doll was taking a minute to think.

"Well, you'll probably stay here while I move in with her. Don't worry old boy I know you'll find the woman of your dreams too some day."

"No. Please don't leave! What would I do without you? Homes. Sherlock-"

"No Watson. I made up my mind. You are too attached old fellow, if I do say so myself. Now I must get going. She's waiting."

And then the real Watson put the Holmes doll back in his pocket, leaving the Watson doll standing on the desk by itself.

"Holmes," Watson was still speaking for it, "Please don't go. I didn't realize at first but now I love you," by now Watson was using his normal voice,

his own desperate voice, "I was a fool not to accept it sooner. Please let me love you. I would do anything, just to feel your arms around me-"

Watson couldn't finish his skit because before he realized it, he was tackled from the side(not-too-harshly) into the wall.

How did he not see Holmes approaching? Was it because he had his full attention on the dolls?

He was stunned that the real smiling Holmes now had his arms wrapped around him like he was the Watson doll.

Seeing the smile, the sparkle in Holmes' eyes, made Watson realize instantly that he was forgiven.

The doctor couldn't help but chuckle.

"Holmes I...wasn't done. There were still several more plays."

"Well I just wanted to make sure the play had a happy ending. And you seemed to be doing a poor job with that," Holmes playfully smirked.

With the Watson doll still in his hand, Watson returned the embrace. The gazed deeply into each others' eyes.

"I was afraid. I would never see you again," Watson explained suddenly serious, "I was afraid I made the worst mistake-"

He was cut off by lips meeting his own. The pleasant electric feeling filled them both once again. Watson smiled as he kissed back passionately.

Now he was sure Holmes hadn't kissed many times before. So inexperienced.

But that didn't mean that they couldn't practice.

When Holmes withdrew, he looked at his companion straight in the eye.

"I was afraid too. Afraid you would take my words to heart and never come back."

Because Holmes might have been too proud to go after Watson, Watson would be too wary to go after Holmes, and then they might have never seen each other again.

Watson stroke the man's cheek reassuringly.

"Thank you Mr. Shred."

"Thank you Mr. Shred," Holmes agreed, "Come back to me?"

Watson realized that Holmes wanted him to move back in. He smiled and nodded.

"Immediately. In fact I probably should start gathering my things."

He reluctantly pulled out of Holmes' embrace but only because he knew he would return. A hand grabbed his wrist, stopping Watson in his tracks.

He looked into Holmes' eyes that were so full of need and doubt.

"I don't want you changing your mind about this."

Slowly it occurred to Watson that Holmes was still afraid of being abandoned.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked to reassure the man, "I don't have much to pack but I could always use some help."

When Holmes still showed signs of doubt, Watson sighed sadly. He pulled out the Holmes doll and brought it to the Watson doll that was still in his hand.

"Holmes. I promise. As long as these two dolls remain together. We'll be together. Most likely even longer. Just think of these two as our bond, won't you?"

The detective considered this as he took both dolls in his hands. He gave a short laugh.

"So you're saying that as long as these two dolls together, we'll be as well? Honestly Watson that sounds just like faith.

You know I don't subscribe to that thought. But I suppose you really are back for good right?"

"Of course Holmes. Do you want to come with me?"

Holmes was still looking at the dolls when he smiled.

"Yes. But why don't you go on ahead, my dear? I'll catch up shortly."

"Okay," Watson agreed, "I'll see you soon."

He left after that. It wasn't until Holmes was sure the man was out of hearing range when he called Mrs. Hudson.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" she asked questionably.

Holmes handed her the dolls.

"I need you to stitch the arms of these two dolls together. Make sure they can't disconnect."

As she was used to the odd ways of Holmes, Mrs. Hudson merely nodded.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes."


End file.
